


Snake Handling

by PersianPenName



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anacockda, As in a penis that is a snake, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale isn't a Scalie, Balls Python, Boa Condicktor, But Oblivious About It, But yeah porn is gonna be happening, Canon-Typical Drinking, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crowley Has... Something Else, Crowley.exe has stopped working, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Demisneksual Aziraphale, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Existential Terror of Just Being a Highly Modified Tail, First couple chapters are Not Porn, Hemipenes, If I can keep myself from giggling too much, Is that a snake in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?, M/M, Martha and Lorraine of Intimate Books are Highly Invested in these ancient queers, Masturbation, Moving In Together, Multi, Old Married Couple, Other, Snallywhacker, Snecker, Snenis, Snenis (snake penis), Snock, Snohn Thomas, There's A Pocket Dimension In My Pants, Yes I Giggled While Writing This, but he's not NOT a Scalie, but not JUST hemipenes, idiots to lovers, snick, without realizing it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:06:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26874142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersianPenName/pseuds/PersianPenName
Summary: Aziraphale discovers that Crowley has a snake for a dick.That's it, that's the fic.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

Aziraphale walked lightly up the steps to the floor of Crowley's flat, a few bottles of wine and a DVD that had been highly recommended settled in a charming little bag he'd picked up a farmer's market the other week, screen printed with cartoon snakes. Since the failed apocalypse, Aziraphale had been making more of an effort to show an interest in Crowley's preferred pastimes, and he hoped that his selection tonight would please on all counts. _Spy Kids II_ , he'd been assured by his neighbor Lorraine, who ran Intimate Books next door, was a much better film than it had any sensible right to be; and if it wasn't, well, listening to Crowley rant about how and why it was terrible would be just as entertaining.

Wiggling a little in anticipation, he let himself in and toed his shoes off by the door. The sitting room was empty, so he set his things down beside the coffee table and went off to find his demon. The kitchen was as inviting as ever, two cups in the drying rack and a bowl of grapes at the center of the table tempting him to snag a few as he passed by. He picked up his well-loved copy of _Pride & Prejudice_ in the study and shelved it next to Crowley's gardening almanacs. He patted the head of the eagle lectern on his way to the atrium, the plants as green as ever and reflecting the gentle warmth of something deeply loved all through the rest of the flat. He didn't hear the shower going, and wouldn't want to disturb him if it was (though the idea did spark a frisson of heat through his middle), which left only the bedroom or not at home on the list of possibilities.

Wondering if perhaps he'd caught him during one of his frequent naps, Aziraphale eased the door open quietly. To his delight, Crowley was both home and awake, sitting against the headboard. To his surprise, Crowley was pink-flushed and shirtless, with a large snake twined around his arm.

A few things happened at once. Aziraphale said “Oh, what a dear little pet!” while stepping forward, determined not to be awkward at Crowley's state of _dishabille_ , while Crowley flushed a deeper red and quickly drew the sheets up to his chin with his free hand, mouth opening and closing soundlessly. His eyes, Aziraphale noticed, were fully gold without a hint of sclera, which the angel hadn't seen more than a handful of times since Eden.

Aziraphale looked between Crowley and the serpent, then back again. His eyes drifted downwards of their own volition, where he could see the shape of Crowley's legs beneath the sheets, and between them – between them, a telltale writhing of decidedly non-mammalian origin.

“Oh.”

“Gfffw?”

“I, ah. I see that you have – company.” He was walking slowly backwards through the door. “I. So sorry, my dear. Should've knocked. I'll just.”

Crowley tripped over several more consonants, utterly failing to achieve language. He started to reach a hand out to Aziraphale, then pulled it back as the sheets threatened to fall below his waist. Aziraphale gave a cheerily false smile, closed the bedroom door firmly, and fled the flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank my spouse, my friends, and the glorious perverts of the Gomens Party House discord server for their contributions to the Crowley's Dick Name List


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale sat at his desk, elbows propped up, mouth resting against his clasped hands. He had been sitting in the back room for a little over three days, deep in thought and his wine collection. The shop was closed, locked and warded, the shades drawn, and he'd even temporarily unplugged the phone. He didn't need distractions right now.

It was about eight months since the world hadn't ended – eight months where he and Crowley had spent a great deal of time together. They met up several times a week for meals, wandering in and out of each others' spaces more comfortably than Aziraphale had ever thought they might. They took weekend trips out into the country, they stayed in darling little bed and breakfasts and went on _picnics_ , for goodness' sake! It was everything Aziraphale could have wanted.

Or, almost everything.

Despite their increased comfort with each other, despite the angel presenting him with every opportunity, really, Crowley hadn't made a single move towards the more _physical_ aspects of a relationship. They would sit next to each other instead of across, at dinner; Aziraphale would join him on the couch or settee. He had even taken to laying his hand well within Crowley's personal space at their usual park bench, and the blasted demon simply curled his arm over the back and smiled at him. 

Aziraphale had reached the inevitable conclusion that Crowley simply wasn't interested in having sex. Now, it seemed, Crowley simply wasn't interested in having sex _with Aziraphale_. 

He had reached the stage of drunkenness that Crowley had once called 'the birthplace of bad ideas'. In theory he ought to sober up, but one of the best things about this stage was that sensible solutions like that just didn't appeal. So. Crowley was attracted to snakes. Sexually attracted to them. Let snakes get up close and personal with his naughty bits, in a way that Aziraphale didn't want to picture but would gladly have volunteered to try. Was it because Crowley was, on some level, a snake himself? Perhaps some sort of pheromone thing? Aziraphale could wear pheromones. Was it the constriction? Aziraphale could hold him _so tightly_ , if only Crowley would let him. Was it the feeling of scales against his skin? Well, he could understand the appeal of that; he'd spent a few centuries picturing what it might feel like to have Crowley moving over and around him, coiling and twining and – wait, was _he_ sexually attracted to snakes???

He went and found a herpetology book with pictures. Flipped through it. No response in the downstairs department. Just Crowley, then.

He went to go top up his wine, and his stomach rumbled. He could absolutely murder a gyro and some chips. 


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley was on his second day in front of the bookshop. It had taken him a bit to process what was happening when Aziraphale had walked in on him, and by the time his brain was fully functional again the angel had gone. He'd tried ringing the shop, but got no answer. He'd waited, tried to give Aziraphale some time, hoped that maybe he'd reach out when he realized the entire concept of Crowley having _company_ in that tone of voice was ridiculous, then rolled his eyes at the idea of _Aziraphale reaching out_ in general and gotten in his car.

He'd parked in his usual spot, reached towards the door, and flinched at the spark of celestial power. The door was warded. Warded! At least that meant the angel was actually inside. He sat down in front of the bookshop to wait. 

One of the women from the books-and-dildos shop next door approached him around lunchtime. He was just finishing up a delivery order, hoping that the presence of food would charm Aziraphale out of his lair (or at the very least, that he’d answer the door for the delivery human, and Crowley could get a word in edgewise), when she sat herself down next to him.

“So. In the doghouse, are you?”

His mouth opened and shut a few times, entirely bypassing his brain’s insistence that _no, it isn’t like that, **they’re** not like that,_ instead letting out a petulant “I didn’t even _do_ anything this time! _He_ walked in on _me!”_

She nodded sympathetically. “That’s how it goes sometimes, I’m afraid. My Lorraine can have a strop about something I said in a dream, and I’m still stuck apologizing all day for it.” She gave his shoulder a friendly pat. “Mr. Fell’s a decent sort, I’m sure he’ll come around soon.”

They ended up chatting until the food arrived, and neither the excellent spread nor Crowley’s insistent knocking got so much as a twitch in the mail flap. He ended up giving the lot of it to the humans, and resettled himself for a good sulk on the steps.

When night came, he slept in the bentley. It knew enough to keep watch for him, should the angel make an appearance.

During the daylight, he took up his post on the stairs again. The sun crawled across the sky, evening fell along with his spirits, and Crowley was just about to get up for another round of bed-and-bentley when the door at his back shifted and he was pitched face first into the sidewalk.

“Oh,” said a surprised-sounding voice above him, “You’re not a kebab.”


End file.
